A Hermione Draco lovestory
by Sjoeline
Summary: Draco has been in love with Hermione for years; hence his jealousy and hatred directed towards Potter and Weasley. He tries to deny it, but that doesn't change the fact that he is head-over-heals-in-love with her. During his fourth year however, at the day of the Yule ball, Draco gets an unexpected chance that will forever change the relationship between the two of them.


Chapter 1 : Let the game begin

POV: Malfoy

Malfoy groaned as he turned over in his over in his bed. The excited whispering that filled the first floor common room reached his ears and made it almost impossible for him to sleep. It wasn't really the noise that bothered him; it was the feeling that came with it. Excitement. Joy. Happiness. His stomach clenched. He envied them. He too wanted to laugh downstairs and talk about his wishes for tomorrow – the day of the Yule ball. But he felt sick just thinking about it, and the fact that he felt sick made him feel even worse. He couldn't comprehend it. _Why_ did he care so much? _Why_ couldn't he just ignore her? He sighed as he gave up trying to shut the thoughts of her out.

He relaxed his shoulders and comfortably rested his head against the pillow. For a moment he got excited; he very rarely let himself have the pleasure of thinking about her – it was too painful, too complicated. But tonight he didn't seem to have a choice as the entire atmosphere of Hogwarts seemed to be lovesick, giggly and disgusting. The unique chance he had, but was too much of a coward to take, haunted his mind as a result of their Yule ball-obsession. _You could've asked her,_ his mind insisted. But he knew very well that he couldn't have. Still, for a brief moment, he let himself imagine that he had.

He would wait for her at the bottom of the staircase in the entrance hall. Yes, he would stand there in his green silk cloak and wait for her to come down. Of course Potter and Weasley would be far off, preferably drowning in the Black Lake or getting eaten by werewolves in the forbidden forest. How they would tease him if they ever found out! He felt sick again, but then his mind focused on her, and the bad feeling disappeared. She would walk towards him, brilliant as ever, with her bushy brown hair and bunny-like front teeth. His heart melted a little as he thought of her – her know-it-all attitude, her not very good sense of style, her tendency to wrinkle her forehead when she worried too much about homework… The offended look she would give him when he couldn't help but to lash out at Potter or the freckled ladder of a friend he had.

But he would never purposely offend _her_. Only when the envy got too much to handle, or when she would take Potters hand (his stomach clenched yet again) or when she looked a little too good, he would loose his temper. She always looked good though – with those deep deer-looking brown eyes, her slender little body and her lovely brown curls bouncing around her head. He imagined how good she would look at the Yule ball, and his stomach clenched, a little differently this time though – instead of the painful stabbing, he now felt nothing but desire.

Suddenly the little daydream he had about Hermione Granger changed; he was no longer waiting for her in the entrance hall – he was kissing her. Deeply. Passionately. With her back pinned against the wall he would push her slightly back, closing in on the little space between their bodies. They would move rhythmically, their bodies rubbing against each other. He would kiss her intensely, his tough playing with hers, and with his hand around her waist he would pull her closer. Always closer. She would smell of the strawberry shampoo that always made him crazy when he was sitting behind her in potion class (he never understood how Potter and Weasley could be so close to her) and she would make that cute little grin she tended to make when she was happy (which, Malfoy reminded himself, often disappeared once she caught sight of him).

Malfoy had, however, now very little self-control left, and he could not remind himself of anything else – let alone how far his imagination had travelled from reality. He couldn't help it; his hand disappeared under his boxers and started moving just as rhythmically as he and Hermione did in his mind. He let out a moan. In the back of his mind he vaguely registered his classmates entering the room, but he couldn't stop. It felt too good; his imagination was much more preferable to the reality of the Slytherin dorm. His bed curtains were closed, and as long as he kept quiet, they never had to know what he was doing... Or more importantly, who he was thinking about while doing it.

He knew he was awake before he opened his eyes the next morning – he could feel the dim, green light from the dormitory on the back of his eyelids – so he laid there, in his bed, listening to the tired yawns and quiet talking from the other fourth years. Crab and Goyle were discussing which of their dates looked the best, in which brightened Malfoy's mood considerably. The two boys, or piles of fat and muscles, had struggled first of all to ask any girls out at all, and secondly to find anyone that wanted to go with them. Therefore, they had both ended up with two rather grim looking second years from Ravenclaw. Malfoy was pretty sure they only agreed to go with them to experience the Yule ball, and the thought delighted him. At least he wasn't the only one that wasn't dancing around on a pink cloud, singing and being happily in love.

He got up, and pulled his bed-curtains aside. "You do know," he said, in his typical arrogant way of talking, "that they both look like some wrinkly kind of animal right out of _fantastic beasts and where to find them_?". He eyed them both with a smug grin as if daring them to protest. They didn't, however, just shrugging their shoulders in their dumb kind of if-you-say-so-way. He thought, for a brief moment, how much more fun it would be talking to Granger. He remembered how she almost punched him in his face last year, and the though amused him. She was the only one he could think of with both the courage and the brains to challenge him. He smiled for a second, but the thought hurt, and he sent his so called friends an annoyed look. "If you two want to look remotely presentable tonight, perhaps you should start getting ready right now?" He reached for his black, elegant cloak as he talked. "Or wait, I forgot who we are dealing with here. Don't bother. The two of you won't look presentable anyway." He adjusted his clothing a bit, brushed off some dust, and ran his hand through his blonde hair. As he headed for the door, he mumbled under his breath: "Truth be told, you look like walking piles of meat."

As it was holiday, and additionally a Saturday morning, he was pretty sure he wouldn't see much of Granger before the ball started at eight. On his way to catch some breakfast in the Great Hall, he thought that perhaps it was for the best. After all, he should be doing anything in his power to forget about her. Suddenly he stopped, however, amazed by what he was seeing. It was as if the bare thought of her had made her appear in front of him. Granger. He stared at her. She was sitting behind the wall that separated the courtyard from the hallway that framed it. Once or twice she got hastily up on her feet, looked around, and then jumped down, sheltered yet again by the wall. A snowball flew straight above her head and hit the opposite side of the hallway. She let out a laugh and grinned happily. Malfoy almost wanted to turn around; he wasn't sure he could stand seeing her grin fade away because of him. Before he had time to turn away, however, her eyes locked with his.

She froze, her body completely still and her chocolate colored eyes alarmed. They stood still, eyeing each other suspiciously. Her cheeks were flushed and pink, her eyelashes and eyebrows sparkling with tiny snowflakes from the snowball fight she apparently found herself in. Some seconds passed while they were looking at each other, and suddenly – out of nowhere – a snowball hit her in the back of her head. The puzzled look on her face made him, however involuntary, laugh a little. In the corner of his eye he could see Fred, Gerorge, Weasley and Potter run away laughing, seemingly seeking shelter from Hermione's anticipated revenge. She brushed the snow off her hair and stared at him, as if she expected him to make a remark about it, completely oblivious to the fact that her friends were running away.

"What?!" they almost shouted at the same time, as if waiting for the other to start fighting. Malfoy looked at her, insecurely. Since she was always hanging out with Potter and Weasley, she probably never realized that he never had a problem with her – quite on the contrary. The first time he saw her he had felt a sting of jealousy towards Potter and Weasley because she so obviously preferred them. Hence his hatred for the two boys, but to cover it up (how embarrassing for a Slytherin to fall for a Gryffindor – completely unacceptable) he had blamed the fame and glory of Potter, the stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid 'boy that lived'. He couldn't believe how oblivious she was, but then again, he was incredibly thankful for it. The thought of her, Potter and Weasley laughing, making fun of him, made him cringe. She could never know – he had to make sure of that.

He was not sure, however, how to deal with the situation ahead. With Potter and Weasley there, their meetings had always ended with confrontations and fights – sometimes verbally, most times physically. He had no idea how to act around Hermione alone, though, as he had never before been in such a situation. He looked at her with a confused look on his face, in which she mirrored almost immediately. He realized, however, that he was acting stupid and modest, and that was _not_ fitting adjectives to describe a Malfoy. He knew what needed to be done and braced himself. He opened his mouth to say something along the lines of "What are you looking at, you filthy little mud-blood!", but as he looked into her chocolate-colored, kind-looking eyes the words just didn't leave his moths as he wanted them to. Instead, his sentence, if one can even call it that, sounded an awful lot like "Errrm, I am just gonna…. I'm gonna go now."

Cursing under his breath, Malfoy stormed off towards the Great hall, furiously blushing and hating himself for making a fool of himself. When he seconds later realized that he had wasted a private moment with Granger – a situation not likely to repeat itself – he got even angrier. Without looking back, he hurried inside the castle and promised himself that he would to leave that girl, that filthy little mud-blood, alone.

POV: Hermione

Hermione stared as the black figure disappeared through the door in the end of the hallway. Seconds later, she still stared at the spot where Malfoy had just disappeared. _What on earth was that all about?_ She was so confused about what just happened that she didn't pay any attention to her surroundings whatsoever. She just stood there, her hands dangling loosely against her side, her feet almost frozen to the ground. She shook her head, tried to smooth out the confused wrinkle in her forehead, and turned around to find both Ron and Harry staring at her. Her heart jumped. For just how long had they been standing there?

"Hermione?" Harry asked, in an unsure kind of way. _Damn_ , thought Hermione. Given his tone, they had probably witnessed a lot more than she had hoped. "Errrrr…" she began, unsure of how to continue. "That was Malfoy, acting very, very strange… Almost… You know, not vicious." They looked almost as confused as she felt, but in a heartbeat Harry's face went from puzzled to angry. "He is up to something. I'm sure of it." He too stared at the place where Malfoy had disappeared seconds ago. He bit his lip, as in deep thought before he turned, his body suddenly facing Hermione, his voice full of concern. "He didn't hurt you, in any way, did he?" As Hermione reassured them both that she was okay, she speculated on that very thing. Why was it that she okay? Why didn't Malfoy hurt her? Had he been almost… nice?

An hour later, back in the girls' dormitory, she was sitting in front of her mirror, trying to get a comb through her bushy, brown hair. For some inexplicable reason, her mind was still on Malfoy, and she didn't pay much attention to her fellow roommates' attempt to include her in their conversation. Like Hermione, Lavender and Parvati was sitting infront of a mirror, fixing both their makeup and hair, but unlike Hermione, they were gossiping happily about who was taking who to the ball.

"No, I heard he is taking that Hufflepuff girl from third grade. You know, that girl with freckles? She always wears that horrible headband…" Hermione shook her head, and concentrated on her hair. She never really boned with the two of them; they didn't seem to have much in common. If there was something wrong with that girl's headband, she thought, they definitely didn't approve of the tangled mess on her head. She sighted, gave up on brushing it, and decided to put it up in a curly bun instead. As she reached over to ask Parvati to borrow her comb, she suddenly froze. She was sure she just heard Malfoy's name. For the first time, she listened with interest.

"…totally gorgeous of course, I mean, those cheekbones? And that hair? Malfoy _is_ gorgeous! He is practically perfect, well, if you forget the fact that he is a total jerk of course." Parvati was talking almost to her self as she put on an extra layer of mascara. Hermione straightened her back, bit her lip, and asked carefully: "Who is he going with?" trying very, very hard to sound nonchalant and uninterested. Unfortunately, both Lavender and Parati turned immediately, staring suspiciously at her. "Why do you care?" Lavender asked, giving her a funny look.

 _Yes, why do you care?_ she asked herself, just as surprised as the two girls, if not more. She thought about the look he had given her earlier that day, and she couldn't help notice his icy grey eyes, his dark eyebrows and his tall, slender body. He was, although she really didn't like to admit it, indeed very good looking. Hermione shook her head as if tying to escape those thoughts. She had never been a girl to obsess about stupid, overconfident guys, and she was certainty not going to start now. She rolled her eyes at the two girls, and said in her matter-of-factly-way: "Of course I don't care, I just can't image anyone wanting to go with that idiot."

To Hermione's relief, Lavender and Parvati seemed reassured by her answer and went back to fixing their hair. While putting on even more mascara, Parvati went on to answer her. "He isn't going with anyone." she said, smiling teasingly to Hermione. "so I guess you're right." Hermione tried not to notice the fact that what Parvati had said made her a bit… happy? She tried to convince herself that she was just relieved because she wouldn't be the only one going alone… As she thought that very thought, Parvati seemed to have realized what she just said, turning very quickly to Hermione. "Oh god! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean… I just said… I didn't mean that no one wanted to go with you! There's nothing wrong with going alone!" Parvati shot Lavender a desperate look for help, and Lavender too started trying to reassure Hermione. "I mean, Neville asked you! And, and…" They looked helplessly at each other, and Hermione felt almost bad for them.

"It's okay." She said, as she took her dress from her hanger. "I don't mind going alone. I think it's a lot better than going with someone I don't like, or…" she paused, pulling on her dress, concentrating on not ruining her hair. "just using Neville because he is the best alternative I've got."

The next ten minutes, however, became very awkward and very quiet, and when the clock reached eight, Hermione was very happy to leave the awkward silence behind at the dormitory. Unfortunately, she reminded herself, Harry would probably spend the evening with Parvati and Ron would probably be dancing with Padema. She hoped, as she entered the beautifully decorated, beautifully lit room that used to function as the dining hall, that the evening would be pleasant enough after all…

POV: Malfoy

He was in a terrible mood. As everyone was twirling around, dancing, laughing and making out, Draco realized that going to the dance alone was not his best idea after all. He had hoped that being there would get his mind off of Granger, and that he'd perhaps hook up with some random girl to forget about her. As everyone at the dance seemed to have a partner, Draco figured that his plan had backfired. Being at the dance didn't make it easier for him to shut Hermione out; it became twice as hard. Additionally, being there alone made him feel lonely; even making fun of Goyle and Crab trying to dance, repeatedly stepping on their dates' feet, had lost its appeal. As he stood at the sideline, very much alone, eyeing the crowds, he felt people starting to stare at him, whispering to each other.

The downside of being Draco Malfoy, he thought, was everyone expecting great things from him at all times. In qudditch, at school, and now, apparently, at the ball. He realized he was expected to make an appearance, dancing better than everyone, brining the prettiest girl at school. He frowned, and without a second thought, he headed for the door. It was too much being there, being judged and being rapidly reminded of his loneliness and pain. It was too much of a contrast to his surroundings not to be extremely apparent to him, more so than before. He felt awful, breathless. He couldn't breath and he couldn't think. The room started spinning and he knew he needed to get out of there. Now. He started walking faster and faster, pushing people out of the way to get to the door. As he hurried out of the room, he passed her, and for the second time that day, their eyes met.

He looked into her deep brown eyes, framed perfectly by a thick pair of eyelashes. She wasn't wearing makeup, but to him, she was the prettiest little thing in the room. To his delight, he noticed she still hadn't managed to keep her hair under control, and even though it was in a pretty, little pin-up, chunks of hair still managed to find its way out. When she walked, they bounced up and down, making his heart melt a little. Her dress was, to Draco's surprise, very pretty, floating around her legs when she walked. Its light blue color made the brownness of her eyes pop, and Draco couldn't take his eyes of her. She looked like she had just stepped out of his dream. He was speechless.

"Hermione!" the way too familiar voice dragged Draco's mind back into the real world, and just as Potter and Weasley appeared, he quickly walked away from Hermione, heading for an empty classroom. He needed to be alone, and given the fact that the common room would be filled with curious, gossiping first, second and third years, all wanting to know as much as possible about the dance, Draco really didn't want to go there. He opened a random door, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then he hurried inside. He sat down on the floor, in a slow, exhausted motion, and leant his back against the cool brick wall. He inhaled deeply a couple of times to calm down, and then he closed his eyes, trying to prevent his tears form emerging the corner of his eyes.

He couldn't help it. He was hopelessly, head-over-heals-in-love with a muggleborn, and right now, the pain of it all hit him with an overwhelming force. Without really realizing it, he opened his hipflask with firewhisky and drank as if his life depended on it. Then he closed his eyes, relaxed by the soothing feeling from the firewhisky and the coolness from the wall behind him. He completely lost track of time, and when a voice carefully asked "Eeeer… Are you okay?" he really had no idea what to answer. The voice followed up by asking "Malfoy?", the concern making it light and almost unrecognizable. But Malfoy knew who was talking to him – he would've recognized that voice anywhere, in any condition – it was Granger.

He looked up at her, his eyes watery enough for her to get suspicious, but not enough to give away the awful lump in his throat, or the dull aching in his heart. "Come to make fun of me?" he asked a little humorously, smirking at her, his grey eyes sparkling, a dangerous light dancing in his eyes. He didn't hide his sadness – he could see in her face that she knew something was wrong – but his teasing was light, casual, slightly reassuring her. "Eeer, no…" she answered, anxiously, stuttering a little. "I just.. eeer, you know. The dance…" she couldn't find the right words, and she ran her hand through her now bushy hairdo, her expression stressed. "everyone had partners…" Draco raised his eyebrows at her in a mockingly way, and Hermione blushed furiously. She had seemingly forgotten whom she was talking to, and she almost headed towards the door, and Draco realized it was probably because she was waiting for him to make fun of her.

"Wait." Draco said, the effects of the firewhisky making him braver and more reckless then his usual, controlled, calculating self. "I know we're all enemies and stuff. You hate me, I hate you, I'm in Slyhterin, you're in Gryffindor, and there is about a million more reasons why we're not friends," He made a pause, suddenly feeling self-conscious, wishing he had never opened his mouth at the look of Hermione's stunned expression. "You being a foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach, being one of them" Hermione said, quite sincerely Draco guessed, but also with a little smile, quoting herself from the time she _almost_ punched his face. "Right," Draco said, smirking at the memory, encourage by the fact that she didn't laugh at him. "but can't we just forget that and everything else for a moment to just get ridiculously drunk on firewiskhy?" He said it as a challenge, knowing it was the only way to get her on board. She loved rules, she was definitely a teacher's pet, but then again she was a Gryffindor. It was in her blood to be reckless and brave, and to never back down from a challenge. He could see the struggle in her eyes, but she was tempted – he could see it.

With one little word she agreed, and sat down next to him – very suspicious indeed, and as far away from him as she could while still being able to talk to him. She was there, though, and as far as Draco was concerned that was enough. "Not a word to Ron, or Harry, or to anyone else." She said, her voice stern and her look harsh. She reminded him of McGonegall so much that it made him smile. "Of course not." He answered lazily, "Do you really think I want to ruin my reputation?" He reached her the hipflask, surprised to se her take it and sip from it. "And tomorrow we are back to hating one another?" she asked as if wanting to be reassured. "Tomorrow we are back to hating one another." He confirmed, reaching for the bottle. "We should have some kind of insurance," she said, giving him the bottle. "so that we can't use this against each other." Malfoy frowned, looking at her. "How? You're the genius here."

Without any of them realizing that he had actually complimented her, she reached for her purse and found a tiny little bottle. He recognized it from potion class; it was Snape's homework for the holiday. "So typical of you to be finished already." He said in a half exasperated, half amused way. She ignored him, pouring it into the flask. "There." She said, smiling just as smugly as Malfoy usually did. "Now neither of us will remember this in the morning." She took a large sip, as did he, and reassured by Hermione's potion, they both let their guard down. They smiled, then laughed, and soon they were lying on the floor, laughing harder than either of them had done in weeks, maybe even in months. And for the first time in years, Malfoy's heart stopped aching…

POV: Hermione

The firewhisky was going to her head; she was feeling lightheaded, happy and careless – adjectives that were never really used to describe Hermione Granger. But truth be told, she liked it. And she really, really liked the drop dead gorgeous guy that sat next to her. Or, she corrected her self, she didn't _like_ him. He was an idiot, he was arrogant, he was selfish, and smiling, she added a foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach. Still, she would be lying if she said she didn't find him attractive. She did, she really, really did. And with the insurance that none of it would be remembered the next day, she stopped worrying about her feelings, and enjoyed the sight of his perfect silhouette against the wall.

He was leaning his head back, eyeing her closely, and – as far as Hermione could tell – seemingly enjoying to stare at her. "Lets play a game." He suggested, but in a commanding, Draco Malfoy kind of way, that really made it more of a command than a question. She was nervous and excited, and for once she wanted to be someone else – someone who didn't always make the right decisions, someone who didn't take on all the responsibility, someone that could let go and have fun. She wanted to have one night of her life where she didn't have to worry about keeping Harry alive (with the whole fighting dragons thing going on, that had been quite difficult this year) or about getting good grades, or about keeping in touch with her muggle-family or about being perfect. It was exhausting, and right now, she could feel just how tired she was. She could also feel how much she longed for feeling free, so without much hesitation she agreed to Malfoy's proposition. She needed this. And tomorrow, it would be like it never even happened. She smiled, nodded, and reached yet again for the flask.

"Sure you're up for this?" Malfoy looked at her with a calculated stare, that somehow seemed to read her mind – not a lot different from Dumbledore. Although, she had to admit, this situation did not really seem like something Dumbledore would like to be associated with. She let out a laugh, and stared Malfoy right in the eyes. "Yes." She said with certainty as her pulse was rising. Firewhisky was filling her body and her Gryffindor-courage was kicking in. "I'm up for this if you are." With a grin quite similar to the one on Malfoy's, face, she teasingly added: "But then, Slyhtherins are known to back down when they're in a position to lose." She looked at him challengingly, a look in which me mirrored, and at the same time they changed their position so that they were facing one another. "Okay, then." Malfloy said, and Hermione could feel the butterflies in her stomach going crazy. "Let the game begin."


End file.
